The unspoken (and sometimes spoken) criticism is, “How can you deprive your kids?”

As told to Shoshana Gross

The click of my key in the lock echoed through the empty house as I stepped into the daily after-school silence. The privilege of the youngest child — no older siblings home. Mom at work. Dad gone so long I couldn’t remember him. But the snack cupboard was full. In the quiet, lonely kitchen, I savored the sweetness of chocolate, the crunch of Oreo cookies, the saltiness of Lay’s barbecue potato chips filling the emptiness.

I was the kid who emptied my piggy bank as fast as my allowance could fill it, reveling in the pleasures of every sugary temptation. I was the teenager who effortlessly downed a pint of rocky road ice cream in one sitting. I was the college student who dined on Hershey bars and a coffee. What shocked me was that when I did manage to eat a balanced meal, I felt so much more satisfied. My candy-coated childhood hadn’t prepared me for the idea that food could make a difference.

I was in my twenties when I finally decided to learn how to take care of myself. Haunting the local health-food stores, I met like-minded people who knew a lot more than me and weren’t shy about sharing their wisdom. I learned that health isn’t eating a few carrot sticks and an apple to fulfill a daily “health” obligation, but a holistic lifestyle approach. I still needed my chocolate fix, but it was the beginning.

Salads became a regular part of my meal plan. I replaced meat and chicken with salmon as my go-to protein, and white bread morphed into organic whole grain. I tossed out white sugar and my beloved artificial sweeteners in favor of raw honey and date syrup. I was surprised at how fresh my fruits and vegetables tasted now that I wasn’t eating processed food.

Slowly, over years of replacing, tweaking, backsliding, and plain hard work, I became what the general public refers to as a “health nut.”

But I felt so much better. Lighter. Clearheaded. Energetic.

My journey to physical health coincided with my journey to frumkeit, and I felt like eating well aligned perfectly with “v’nishmartem me’od l’nafshoseichem.” It was a value I wanted to incorporate into my future home. My dream seemed out of reach until I finally met my husband. I was 36, and we   both yearned to start a family.

I was “older,” and due to some health challenges, I knew becoming a mother might not be simple. We davened, I cried, and our tefillos were answered when I had my first son at 38. I was overwhelmed by the brachah, awed at my little baby’s perfection. We resolved to do everything we could to keep this child healthy, to nurture him in the best way possible.

Every child I had was longed for, davened for, cried for. Despite the difficulties, Hashem blessed me with four sons, the youngest born when I was in my mid-forties.

From the time they were infants, we’ve raised them healthfully. Ripe avocados were their baby food. We avoid processed food as much as possible, and there’s always fruit available on the kitchen counter, or vegetables to munch on at meals. Where the bug issues are manageable, and when it’s financially feasible, we buy organic products. We focus on organic whole grains, avoiding soy and corn as much as possible. Dark, leafy greens are an excellent source of iron for us since we don’t eat meat or chicken — for health reasons, not due to PETA’s influence. One son wanted to try chicken, so I let him (he admitted he didn’t like it much).

Some people think we go overboard when we don’t give our children any candy, ever, but the terrible effects of high fructose corn syrup (HFCS) and sugar are no secret (not to mention the food coloring and additives). We’re readers of labels, since HFCS hides in so many places (think applesauce pouches). My children eat “regular” food — except their macaroni and cheese consists of organic whole grain pasta, fresh mozzarella cheese (American “cheese” can’t be found in our fridge), and organic ketchup for those who need extra flavor. Organic cereal and organic milk for breakfast isn’t far off the beaten track, and neither is salmon (made only with organic, cold-pressed extra-virgin olive oil) and roasted vegetables for Shabbos.

For my boys, the occasional treat becomes a delicious indulgence. Grapes, fruit platters, and homemade watermelon ices are dessert. Fruit leather is the height of bliss. A whole wheat carrot cake moistened with pumpkin puree and natural sweetener delights our boys on their birthdays. A sweet dairy (organic) noodle kugel with a touch of sugar elevates the entire Yom Tov. We base our decisions on scientific studies, not fad diets or strange food cults.

But we’re often judged for our health. The unspoken (and sometimes spoken) criticism is, “How can you deprive your kids?”

“Your kids can’t handle sugar because you don’t give it to them!” one person yelled at me.

Bringing up children who are different from their peers, who don’t eat lollipops, ice cream and soda, takes sensitivity, thought, open conversations, and endless siyata d’Shmaya.

We talk to our children, instilling them with pride and appreciation for our values. They understand our rules and that we care about them. We devise creative strategies to include our children in friends’ birthday parties and food-based activities. For example, we allow our sons to eat the pizza served at Avos U’Banim, but they don’t eat the candy or drink the soda. We communicate regularly with teachers, so our sons are never left out of any siyum or fun food-related experience. I’m always ready to bring an alternative treat whenever it’s necessary.

But when someone needs to accommodate one of my sons, and they’re clearly trying not to roll their eyes at my stubborn insistence on health, I wish they would treat it like an allergy. I don’t judge anyone for their choices, and I wish they wouldn’t judge ours. We’re not perfect. We’re a work in progress, striving to give the best to our children, just like every other Jewish family. We’re deeply committed to raising our children on an exclusively healthy diet, and it’s something that can be done. The foods I wish I grew up on are familiar to them. The tastes I only learned to enjoy as an adult are the flavors of their childhood. And it’s worth all the effort. My sons are, bli neder, happy, well-adjusted kids.

I was once in the car with my five-year-old son who had just attended a birthday party where he couldn’t eat the cake or lollipops (although he had his private stash of goodies).

“How did you feel when you couldn’t have any treats?” I asked anxiously. “Did you feel bad?”

“I did feel bad,” he said. “I felt bad for everyone who was eating unhealthy food.”

I breathed easier and thanked Hashem for the sweetness of that moment.

I know:

that people think we’re crazy, and I won’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. I wish people understood that we’re living with a cheshbon, not just blindly following a weird diet.

For my children:

sugar is poison. Please don’t offer them candy to be “kind.”

Please understand:

that just because we choose to live this lifestyle, I don’t expect everyone to follow suit. Everyone has the right to make their own choices.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 932)